All the turnkeys were assembled. All this juncture, a thundering crash was heard against the side of the bridge. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him.
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